The Alchemaster's Apprentice - By Walter Moers Page 0,85

dying!’

‘Stinging entails dying!’ danced the bees. That seemed logical, so Echo joined in.

‘But Gnorkx is great, and that is why he summons us to him when we die, to dwell on the sun with him for evermore. Stinging entails dying, but dying entails eternal life!’

‘Stinging entails dying, but dying entails eternal life!’ danced the bees.

‘Nonsense,’ thought Echo. ‘Dying entails dying.’ He was the only bee to have stayed put.

All at once, absolute silence fell. Not a single Demonic Bee dared to move - apart from Echo, who realised that his situation had become awkward. Nervously, he took a step sideways and waggled his antennae. Not that he knew it, this was the beginning of an inadvertent remark in the Demonic Bee idiom:

‘Gnorkx is …’

Still no one moved. He took a step backwards. This meant:

‘not …’

He turned on the spot to see what the other bees were doing. This meant:

‘great.’

All the bees waggled their antennae in extreme agitation. Their leader drew himself up to his full height. Echo had just danced an outrageous statement. No inhabitant of the Demonic Beehive would have dared to make such an assertion, namely:

‘Gnorkx is not great.’

The next dance routine the leader performed was quite complicated. He fluttered his wings, turned on the spot four times, rubbed his antennae together and shook his head repeatedly. This meant:

‘I fear we have a heretic in our midst. Those who are anti-Gnorkx are pro-Elfinwasp. As Gnorkx’s champions in the everlasting war, what do we do with those who deny him and side with the Elfinwasps?’

‘We sacrifice them to Gnorkx!’ the colony replied.

Echo didn’t join in. ‘It’s high time I made myself scarce,’ he thought. ‘Let’s see what I can do with these things on my back.’

He fluttered his wings, rose into the air and went zooming off. The serried ranks of the Demonic Bee army didn’t dare move until ordered to do so by their leader.

‘I’m managing pretty well already,’ thought Echo. ‘Maybe my experiences as a Leathermouse are paying off.’ And he flew down a narrow tunnel leading off the big chamber in the centre of the hive.

The leader went into another dance routine meaning ‘Kill him as painfully as possible!’. Even before he could add another ‘Gnorkx is great!’ the entire colony rose into the air and set off in pursuit.

‘Buzzing along like this isn’t as nice as flying like a Leathermouse,’ Echo couldn’t help thinking, despite his panic. ‘There’s something mechanical about it.’

Just wide enough for two bees to pass one another, the narrow tunnel he was flying along soon ended in a fork. He wondered which way to go, but how did you get your bearings in a Demonic Beehive? He opted for the passage that was more brightly illuminated. Of course, that was how Demonic Bees got their bearings: they made for the sun. For Gnorkx.

The chorus of humming behind him grew louder, which meant that his pursuers were gaining on him. He tried to put on speed but found he couldn’t fly any faster. He was a bee, not a Leathermouse. Bees flew at a walking pace. The next turning took him along an even brighter tunnel. He could already see sunlight streaming in at the far end - he would soon be out of the hive.

Something would occur to him once he was outside, he thought. There were bound to be places he could hide. Then he would lie low until this confounded trip was over. If only he didn’t feel so tired! His pursuers’ angry buzzing was growing ever louder.

Echo flew out into the open. Dazzled by the sunlight, he was suddenly overwhelmed by the immensity of the world outside. He was flying over a verdant Zamonian meadow with flowers shedding their pollen all around him. There was life and colour on every side. Rabbits were lolloping across the grass, butterflies sipping nectar, midges darting through the air. Echo looked back. Demonic Bees were pouring out of the hive in droves. He looked ahead again - and saw a gigantic bird swooping down on him.

No, the bird wasn’t gigantic, it only seemed so to a tiny insect his size. It was a relatively small bird: a Cyclopean Tuwituwu, in fact. To be more precise, it was Theodore T. Theodore, Echo recognised him by the pale dot over his single eye. The Tuwituwu opened its beak and headed straight for him. It was out hunting.

Echo could neither advance nor retreat. His mind was in a whirl. Was this a form of retribution?